Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Recently,
I had six out of seven pieces I sent out last spring accepted at literary
magazines. If you know that prior to this I’d only published around six essays
over a span of twelve years, then you
can guess how thrilled I am. I’ve had my reasons for publishing so little--
namely taking a long hiatus from sending stuff out. But I’ve also heard it said
that for every acceptance you garner, you will receive about 20 rejections--
and my track record up until now definitely supports this ratio. In fact, I
submitted one of my recently published pieces, “Awareness,” 21 times before it finally found its
home!

About
ten years ago, I first started submitting to literary journals in earnest while
in grad school. I’d send out a piece to about five different places, then wait,
and wait… for mostly rejection. Some of my pieces might make it to the final
round of consideration, meaning the journal might have it for almost a year
before I finally received an encouraging yet discouraging note, this came close, but sorry.

These
near-acceptances taught me that my work couldn’t be terrible, and so I kept trying. But eventually, I got tired of all
the striving and rejection. I’d been calling myself a writer for years, yet
hardly anyone had ever read my work! It was time to change gears-- not give up,
but just try a different approach. This post is my attempt to retrace the path
I’ve taken, and to share what I’ve learned along the way. If you, like me, are
tired of rejection or don’t know where to begin submitting, here are a few
ideas to consider:

Start a Blog (or contribute guest
posts to friends’ blogs):

During
my first years of motherhood I stopped submitting to journals, and instead
started blogging, which in turn revitalized me as a writer. Blogging was a way
to put myself out there-- my voice, my thoughts, my identity as a writer-- and
to garner immediate responses from friends and acquaintances, mostly through
Facebook. My readership was small, but it was nevertheless exciting to see it
grow.

Blogging
also helped me to let go of my perfectionist tendencies. The “hey, I just wrote
this off the top of my head” format helped me to let go of the idea that
everything I wrote needed to be perfect or profound before sharing it. And I
didn’t worry much about long lapses between posts or how my blog could reach
more people, because blogging wasn’t a social networking strategy for me; it
was a lifeline, a much needed outlet to connect my private world to the world
outside my home. Blogging was how I ultimately “came out” to the world as a
writer, despite my many previous years of toiling on essays and a manuscript, with
only a few trusted readers along the way.

Make More Connections in the
Literary World

Many
writers are introverts. Before I moved to Seattle
in 2008, I lived in a cabin on 50 acres and plenty of days went by where I
didn’t talk to anyone besides my husband and our cat. We had dial-up, but still
no cell phone. I signed up for Facebook before I really understood what it was,
then ignored it until people started ‘friending’ me and before long I became intrigued
and addicted.

Now,
it is easy to criticize the shortcomings of online communities and addictions, so
putting that conversation aside for now, I will say that, for me, Facebook has
connected me to so many writers in the Pacific Northwest that I seriously doubt
I otherwise would’ve managed to connect with in person. And what I’ve found is
that most writers want to be
supportive of each other and are hungry for connection to other literary souls,
whether they are emerging or established writers.

Of
course, it’s even better to cultivate live, in-person relationships. But as a
busy person who typically does not go out much to readings, parties, or bars, I’ll
take an online friendship to nothing. From a publishing perspective, these
connections have given me access to more posts about journals, contests, and
calls for submissions. And ultimately, these online connections also just give
me a livelier, more intelligent newsfeed and a sense of belonging to a greater literary
community that I’ve long craved. Plus, I am much more likely to approach
someone in person if we’ve already connected online.

Do Your Research-- and Use the
Internet!

People
have long given me the advice: read and know the aesthetic of the journals you
are submitting to. But I confess, I have not always followed it. I’ve been impatient.
I didn’t want to go through the long (and expensive, to me) process of ordering,
then waiting, then reading all those journals. And frankly, I didn’t even like
much of the writing in “those” journals. But I also wasn’t that keen on publishing
in online journals because they weren’t as highly regarded back then. And,
naturally, I wanted to publish in respected places-- not the “highest tier”; I
knew better than to submit to the New
Yorker right off the bat (well, actually, I considered it at first, silly
novice). But I figured my work at least deserved to be in the “middle tier”
journals.

Here’s
what I know now: do not hoard your work. Of course, don’t give it away willy
nilly to the first taker; still be selective and look for journals that are
pleasing to your eye and full of
other work that you are drawn to
read! Yet at the same time, be brutally honest to yourself about the quality of
your work, the level of competition, and where your work might realistically find
a home. (And trust that you will continue to write more stuff that is even
better!)

The
good news is, there are SO many more high quality online journals out there
now, which makes is so much easier to do your research. It doesn’t take long to
scan through a few pieces online and get a sense of whether you resonate with a
journal’s aesthetic; you could scan through ten in an hour, which is very
different than mailing in $10 to ten different journals and waiting several
weeks for each to arrive. Plus, there is no longer the same stigma against
publishing online as there used to be. Actually, I prefer to publish oline now because
then I can share my work with more people. And since most journals have been
shifting to an online submission process as well, it is that much easier now to
submit.

Know Your Audience and Target Online
or Smaller Niches

How
do you find your ideal audience, much less any audience at all?

It might
mean seizing upon opportunities to submit
to anthologies or themed issues of journals that are focused on a
specific topic that you already have a perfect piece for (or that inspires
you to write one anew), for your competition will be greatly narrowed.
Look in the back of Poets and
Writers magazine for their “calls for submissions,” or go to http://www.newpages.com/classifieds/calls-for-submissions
to start perusing possibilities.

It
might also mean writing shorter,
web-friendly pieces in the 500-1000 word range (as opposed to the
twenty-page double-spaced, MFA low-residency friendly pieces I gravitated
towards for years). For online publishing, about 4,000-5,000 words is the
maximum that most sites take, although there are exceptions.

And
finally, for me, it meant targeting
journals that were actively publishing women and/or people of color. Is
it a coincidence that almost all of the pieces I’ve recently had accepted
were through journals who are committed to publishing women or “diverse
voices”? I think not. While this
will not stop me from submitting my work to other “higher tiered journals”
(which ultimately publish far fewer women and people of color, as
documented by the Vida count,
but which might count more on one’s book deal-seeking resume), I also realize
know that I want to keep seeking
out journals who are committed to women’s voices and cultural diversity. After
all, these are the kinds of voices and stories I am most drawn to read as
well. Here is a great round-up of journals that actively seek out diverse
voices.

Who
might your ideal audience be? Are you hoping to reach other queer
readers, other spiritually-minded readers, other mothers, other animal lovers,
other world travelers, other naturalists? There are magazines and journals out
there for just about everyone.

Most of all, remember that when it comes to publishing and succeeding
as a writer, persistence and patience are everything!!! And lots of
rejection does not equal failure. What it may mean is:

·You
need to keep getting feedback and editing your work

·You’re
not submitting to the right places

·You’re
not submitting to enough places or
enough times; for example, if an
editor says, no thank you but please
submit to us again, Do it! Don’t delay; they mean what they say.

·Or,
in some cases, it might not yet be your time yet. Maybe you are not ready to go so public, or maybe your writing is not ready. Maybe you just
don’t have the time to commit. In any case, if you know that writing is a path
that you love and cannot live without: keep writing. Maybe forget about
submitting for a while-- yes, maybe even for years. Be patient. True, it’s
satisfying to publish, especially after toiling for so long, but ultimately,
for me the greatest satisfaction comes in doing the work itself, not in proving
to the world that I am indeed a “real” writer because I’ve published. (Don’t
you hate that insinuation?)

Trust
that when your work is ready, and
when you are ready, you will find your audience, however large or small.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Xin, the character for heart-mind in Chinese (also, the heart radical)

Many of us writers love to
talk and think about our writing process. I am happy to take part in the “Writing Process Blog Tour," which I first saw circulating several months ago. Friend and fellow Seattle writer, Kelly Martineau, invited me
to participate, and I encourage you to read her post about her how she approaches crafting her lyrical creative nonfiction pieces, many of which deal
with the shadow side of motherhood. Here’s my contribution
to the conversation, and at the end I’ll introduce the three writers whom I’ve
invited to carry it forward.

1) What am I working on?

Too
much. Not enough. Mostly, over the last couple years I’ve been editing
and writing a few crucial “bookend” pieces for my manuscript, SEARCHING FOR THE HEART RADICAL: A MEMOIR, which follows my search for language, love, and
belonging as I migrate between China
and America
in my twenties. I’ve been working on this memoir for something like ten years,
or maybe my whole life. Now, I’ve been searching for an agent since this
winter, and am determined to get this book out into the world “soon,” whether that
means I get an agent and book deal, or self-publish, an option I still haven’t
ruled out.

In the meantime, I’ve got this other
manuscript on hold, working title: ARTIFACTS OF LONGING, which explores my
relationship to my present-day home, a wooded cabin in Seattle, which I
inherited from my old neighbor friend, Frank, in 2006. Frank was a merchant
marine, a collector of old things, and an avid reader. His wife, Els, was a
poet, a frustrated wife, a feminist and philosopher. Both were dear friends to my
family, to children (thought they had none of their own), and to nature. After
moving into their home in 2008, I discovered thousands of letters written
between them during the thirty-some years that Frank was at sea for over half
the year, along with journals, slides, and other artifacts.

As I continue to learn more about
their lives, I am simultaneously sinking deeper into my own role as a mother, a
wife, an artist, and a feminist. As such, this book will weave together my evolving
relationship to my own longing, creativity, marriage, familial relationships,
and understanding of home, alongside my inquiry into the private lives of Els
and Frank that I’ve been privileged to witness, posthumously, and interpret
anew.

With all that said, you’d think I’d
be madly scribbling away each day, yet the real bulk of my “work” still rests
in the care of my son. I have about ten hours a week to myself, maybe half of which goes towards my own
writing on a good week, even if that writing is just a few
scribbled lines in my journal. Chores, bills, teaching writing, and editing
others’ work takes up the rest. I’m not complaining though. I’m really happy to
feel this full with meaningful work, and the older my son gets, the more time I
keep stealing back to feed my creative passions.

2) How does my work differ from
others of its genre?

I write a combination of memoir and personal essays that lean towards the lyrical side. Love, longing, home, connection, and compassion are big reoccuring themes of mine. While I
don’t feel that I am a particularly bold groundbreaker or risk taker when it
comes to my subject matter or style of creative nonfiction, I suppose others might call my voice
earnest, open, and intimate. I strive for honesty, for transparency and
vulnerability in my writing; I seek to keep coming out of hiding, to push
myself to say the things that I am afraid to say or to reveal, however bold or safe these confessions may appear to others. Increasingly, I am drawn
towards lyricism and brevity, even though my essays and blog posts
are more often long than not (case in point, this post). On that contradictory note, I feel like a lot
of my work involves some layer of paradox. I’m often noticing the in-between
spaces, the lack of one clear right or wrong, the way we are all products of
our own environments, histories, and prejudices.

3) Why do I write what I do?

Growing
up bilingual and biracial (half Chinese and half Caucasian), I am keenly
attuned to issues of identity and perspective; I frequently feel like a shapeshifter,
negotiating a territory in between hiding and coming out, aware of all the
things that I’m not saying or exposing as I listen to the world around me. This
might be related to conversations on race, or conversations about God and
spirituality, both of which are topics for me that I am simultaneously eager and hesitant to engage in. But definitely, always, listening for and
to.

The more simple answer
would be to say that I write what I do because I have to. I’ve kept a journal
for most of my life, and called myself a writer for nearly 20 years. I am
married to the process of recording my thoughts and emotions, of charting the opening
and constricting tides of my heart. I am also, undoubtedly, a nonfiction writer and
reader, drawn to the intimacy, insight, and connection that happens through
storytelling with the least amount of distance between the reader and writer. I
enjoy writing that invites you in, exposes our own collective vulnerability,
fear, and beauty on the page. I’m thinking of recent memoirs by Lidia
Yuknavitch and Cheryl Strayed; or the lyrical, activist-fueled work of Terry
Tempest Williams and Rebecca Solnit. These are my current writer-heros, and
it’s an amazing gift of our mixed blessing of technology that as their “friend”
on Facebook, I am now actively engaged with their thoughts and their voices almost every day. The bravery of other writers
and activists fuels me, teaches me, reminds me that I still have so much
potential to grow and to evolve into a kinder, more compassionate and courageous human being.

4) How does my writing process
work?

Free-writing
is my friend. Natalie Goldberg was my earliest and most influential writing
mentor. My advice to myself and to others: Write regularly, as much as you can.
Write openly and stream of consciously; banish the editor from early drafts.
Write a lot, then cut away. Put it all out there, interrogate yourself, follow
tangents, be open to the process, to the places where a piece might surprise
you. Be open to finding the new beginning in your ending. Be open to cutting
two-thirds of a piece, or maybe even everything but one paragraph. Trust, be
patient, love the process. Edit, edit, and edit some more. Be patient. Let go
of the ego’s striving for more praise and acclaim. Life and writing are not a
race. Your time will come. Trust the process. Trust whatever it is you need to
do or to write, right now. The goal is authenticity; to find the work, the
stories, and the form through which you can express your core in the most real
way.

For many years, I used to free-write
every morning religiously, with tea or coffee at my side. Now, it happens in
spurts, once or twice a week if I’m lucky, whether in my journal or sometimes,
when I’m feeling a little more focused or starved for communication (i.e. for
an audience), then as a blog post. Becoming a mother-writer (vs. just a writer)
has taught me a LOT about priorities, letting go, and pushing onward. Having conviction in your vision and goals, but
also allowing for surprise and for what needs to be-- for the fact that you are
not, and will never be, in complete control of your life or your creative work.
There’s that paradox again.

Through my free-writing, I search
for those images, memories, questions, or lines that call to me
intuitively, that ask me to take pause and to probe, interrogate, and write
more. When I find that central imagery, or scene, line, or detail, I hone in
there; I start over; I re-focus. I ask: what am I really writing about here,
beneath the surface story? Intuition plays a big role, but so does lots and
lots of drafts and editing. Letting go of “your babies,” letting go of anything
that gives off the slightest hint of falseness. When I get to those more
developed stages, reading my work out loud is the ultimate litmus test for me.
Or imagining reading it to an audience. If I grow bored or if I don’t feel the words in my gut, more than
likely they are ones I can do without. Ultimately, I’m writing to understand,
to uncover, to praise, and to mourn. Speaking from the heart, however cliché that may sound, matters more
to me than anything in writing. Because we all are starved for real connection.

Now, I
am delighted to introduce the following three writers:

First
off, Khadijah Queen is a poet whom I first met while getting my MFA
at Antioch University Los Angeles. Khadijah curates the Courting Risk reading series which I’ve
been honored to participate in, and continues to amaze and inspire me with
all she accomplishes. Her essay, "Mothering Solo," is one example of her brilliant mind and voice.

Bio:Khadijah
Queen is the author of two books of poetry: Conduit (Black Goat/Akashic 2008) and Black Peculiar, which won the 2010 Noemi
Press book award. Individual poems appear widely, and her latest chapbook
is I'm So Fine: A List of Famous Men
and What I Had On, available for download from Sibling Rivalry
Press. Read more at khadijahqueen.com.

Second, I have the pleasure to introduce Seattle-based writer and performance artist, Natasha Marin, who awes and inspires
me with her continual passion for art-making, whether through collaborative,
multimedia projects, or for her continual willingness to initiate provocative and honest dialogues around race,
community, creativity, and vulnerability.

Bio: Natasha Marin is a poet, a mother, a black woman in America just trying to keep on
keeping on. More than a decade beyond graduate school, she still finds people
and ideas fascinating. She hosts Miko Kuro's Midnight Tea (www.mikokuro.com) and is the
co-founder of SPoCS (Seattle People of Color Salon). She has received grants
and awards for her efforts in making poetry more accessible through interactive
art events that engage the community. Her first full-length collection, MILK,
an exploration of breastfeeding in the Digital Age, and is available at www.milkebook.com.

Last but not least,
Olympia writer,Patty Kinney, inspires me with her candid, vulnerable, often funny, sometimes heartbreaking, and always compassionate
writing about subjects such as her family, mental illness, and so much more.

Bio:

Patty Kinney is the recipient of Crab Creek
Review’s 2013 “Editors’ Choice Award” for her poem, “How To Talk To Your
Schizophrenic Child” which is also currently nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
Patty has no idea how or when one finds out if they have won this prize? She
believes her full-length poetry manuscript, Fertility Is A Found Object may
have been “finished” last week. She continues to poem full-time while working
on one of many memoirs - Don’t Encourage Her. Kinney, a Seattle-born,
native-Olympian adoptee and US Army veteran, embraces mothering six sons,
bipolarness, a good Russian Tea Cake and the yellow ranunculus. She also holds
an MFA, meets the gaze of most panhandlers she comes across - desiring to one
day tell their stories.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

I
was going to sit down and start writing right away today, but instead I started
shopping online for a new shower curtain. Similarly, ever since I’ve returned
home five days ago from my week-long writing retreat, I’ve only managed to
scrawl one harried journal entry (truly, just a glorified to-do list), and to read
two short essays from a book.

Harried
is the word that best describes the mental state I have returned to, or rather,
the usual state that I dwell in. I’m not necessarily stressed out or anxious or
worried. But definitely I’m in that constant go-go-go mode, monkey mind jumping from one task to another.

Let’s
talk first about email. I barely checked it at all the week I was gone. And you
know what? I hardly needed to, because I wasn’t sending stuff out. Although I’d
created a ‘vacation responder email’ just in case I missed a query from a
potential student or agent, I didn’t receive one technically important email
that I would’ve felt bad not responding to right away. I’d pretty much taken
care of any pressing worldly business before I left, so I could sink fully into
my week alone with no outlying concerns. I know most people who work day jobs
outside the home wouldn’t be able to do this. I guess I’m lucky in that way.

But
does that mean that my life at home with my child is slow and carefree? No,
because I’m trying to squeeze in so much into the few hours I have each week to
take care of stuff. And because in the eight or so hours I might have to work
each week, I’m trying to prioritize between planning and advertise for an
upcoming workshop; editing and querying agents for a manuscript; and also
actually writing a few things for this blog and submitting my work to journals again.
And that’s just the ‘writerly’ stuff. Let’s not get started on family-related
tasks and chores.

Anyway,
I’m boring myself already with this litany of “how busy I am,” but I suppose
I’m just recovering from a bit of reverse culture shock after coming home from
my retreat, thrown back into my normal life, most of which is driven by my own
desire and need to plan, to feel productive, and to “make the most of my time.”
What this means is: contemplative acts like journaling for journaling’s sake,
reading, or going on walks immediately fall by the wayside. (Facebook surfing
has also, thankfully, taken a less important seat, which is usually the case
after I take a hiatus, but I’m quite certain I’ll gradually warm up to it again
in the coming weeks.)

I
accomplished a lot during the week I was away. As much as I gave myself
permission to just be, open and
receptive, to sink back into a contemplative and aware space, I also could not
(and did not want to) turn off the part of me that is a tad obsessive about making
lists of things to do, and, in turn, keeping tabs on my accomplishments. Because,
you see, I need to pat myself on the back regularly, take stock of how much I
actually do each day, even if to many
it may look like I do nothing but cater to my kid and a few loads of laundry. Or
especially if. Yes, making lists is my way of feeling better about myself
during weeks where I am not able to accomplish a fraction of the lofty writing
goals I set on Monday, because I know this lack of accomplishment isn’t due to
laziness. It’s just… the way it is for now. And each approaching year brings the
promise of a bit more time and space to do these other jobs, namely writing and
teaching, that I have missed and craved and gradually started to inhabit more
and more over these last four.

So,
in the spirit of my obsessive list-making mind and my present-day reality of
too-little time to write beautifully edited
essays, I will conclude this post with a few lists.

Things I Accomplished During
My Week at Hypatia-in-the-Woods:

Organized
files on my computer.

Edited
an old flash nonfiction piece.

Journaled
every day, a lot.

Wrote a
blog post (to be posted when I returned home).

Wrote
and edited a full-blown new essay called, Open Receptivity: On Becoming a Mother-Writer.

Read
through my old manuscript-in-progress, Artifacts of Longing, written pre-motherhood and abandoned since giving birth. You can get a glimpse of the original seed for the project here.

Made a
new outline for said manuscript and for the chapters and sections I’m
newly inspired to write. Later in the week, edited that outline, which now
includes lots of highlighter and excited scribbles.

Read
seven books (!) and several poems to boot.

Made a
new collage from National Geographic images. Actually glued it down this
time.

Re-read
or skimmed most of my blog posts on motherhood from the last few years,
and free-wrote a response. (Also, noted which were my favorites so I could
make a ‘favorite posts’ page when I returned to Seattle.)

Slept
in every day.

Read
late every night.

Listened
to lots of old nostalgic music.

Wasn’t
drawn to drinking most nights, except my last night whereupon I overdid it
and stayed up late dancing to me and Matthew’s old dance party mix that we
made for our wedding. (It’s like five hours long. And very good.)

Met
some wonderful people from the board who graciously welcomed me into their
home, and fed me pizza and sushi.

Cried
and gave thanks to the universe for my good fortune, and for the way life has
circled around again to give me this opportunity to sink back into my old identity
as a writer. And just to be: a woman, writing, alone.

Bought
birthday jammies for Cedar, initiated his first week of not wearing
diapers at night!

Spent
some good quality time with Cedar, including taking him to a rock and gem
show, going to preschool together, hanging out with my sister and niece,
going to Dick’s, going to Heaven Sent (fried chicken; it was on my bucket
list; needed to see if it was going to be as good as my memory of Ezells;
it wasn’t); watching three movies (Dumbo,
which has an incredibly psychedelic sequence of dancing/mutating pigs, no
doubt what the creators were taking there!; Blue Jasmine (in which Cate Blanchett was really good); and Adore (for those of you who might
enjoy a young man/older woman fetish, which I swear I don’t!). Note:
the latter two movies were note viewed with Cedar).

Posted
my blog post on Day Two at Hypatia,
in which I also spread the word about their residency openings.

Took a
rejection from a coveted literary agent in stride; mostly (sniff).

Submitted
an old piece for publication.

Made
multiple new to-do lists for the weeks ahead.

Scheduled
more childcare to preserve sanity.

Posted
this. (Or I plan to anyway, before dashing off to get Cedar soon.)

That’s
pretty much it. I’ll spare you the real nitty-gritty, like wiping butts or
combing my cat for fleas. No other grand notes to end on. Just my desire to keep
writing, in whatever way I can. To actually find (make) the time to keep generating new stuff in the midst of parenting,
and all my other teaching and publishing goals. To keep taking things, one day,
one list, and one thing crossed off at a time.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

I just returned home on Saturday from an amazing week spent alone in the 'Holly House' at Hypatia-in-the-Woods in Shelton, WA. They actually have some openings right NOW (now - April 5 and April 13- June 1), for women residents in the arts, as well as women in academia and entrepreneurship to stay for a week or more. Please contact director@hypatiainthewoods.org if you are interested in learning more details, for they are no longer the same as what is detailed on the website.

Here is what I wrote on my second day alone, as I started soaking in this gift. I plan to post another post soon, wherein I'll reflect on what I actually accomplished, and my re-entry into my "other life" as a mom and wife at home.

Day
Two at Hypatia

It’s
3:30 on Monday and I am still in my bathrobe. I woke at my usual 6:30, but
luxuriously went back to sleep until 9:15. I rose, made coffee, then sat at the
table to write, the space all around: silent. Returning to this lost morning ritual
of mine felt strange in a way; these days I’m so used to drinking my coffee in
the Lazyboy, slowly waking up while checking Facebook onmy i-phone, while Cedar watches cartoons and
eats his peanut butter and jelly toast across from me on the couch. Could I
really sit down right away and begin writing? And whatever will I work on?

I
arrived at the Holly House yesterday shortly after noon. After putting my food
in the fridge, my suitcase in the loft, my toiletries in the bathroom, and my
writing supplies on the dining room table, I wondered, what should I do? I’m so
used to living in the time-space now where one should not ‘waste’ a single
precious moment of solitary, potentially writing time. And yet, I knew better
than to think I could just start writing right away. I needed to give myself
time to settle in. To rearrange the furniture so that the comfortable chair faced
out near the window, to make room for my books on the table nearby, and to sit,
journal, and read while staring out at the trees.

After
an hour or so, I deigned to get out the big folder of writing I brought-- a manuscript,
put on hold for the last four years, that I’ve come here to work on. I needed
to flip through it, familiarize myself with it again, remember how far into the
story I’d once gotten, where I’d left off, what I’d once outlined, and to see
if or how any of this still resonated in me. I gave it a quick glance,
despaired for a moment at how bad some of the writing was, and wondered if I’d
have to start the whole thing over again from scratch. But I knew better than
to go down that route of worry or serious inquiry yet. I still needed to just remember
how to slow down, how to be quiet, how to be patient, how let my body and heart
inhabit this place.

So
I decided to start reading one of the 15 (yes) books I brought for my week’s
stay, and later to go for a walk around the lovely 12 acres or so of mossy
woods that surrounds this cabin, to walk a labyrinth someone built in an
orchard, and to familiarize myself with the surroundings. Then, after a bit
more sifting through old work and a welcoming dinner with three members of
Hypatia’s board (pizza in a couple’s home), I returned home. Yes, home. I fully
intend to make myself at home in this cabin and to soak in every moment that I
am here.

That
brings me to now, to day two. This morning, I was still experiencing a bit of
that unsettled feeling: what am I called to work on? How will I utilize my time
here? The project that I proposed working on in my application is the one that
details the story of my inheritance from my old neighbor: about eight years
ago, I inherited a cabin in Seattle,
along with the artifacts, slides, journals, and hundreds of letters between the
couple, Els and Frank, who lived there for forty-some years. During my
pregnancy, I’d read all of the letters, no small feat. Then, two months before
giving birth, I spent three amazing weeks at Hedgebrook, working and being fed
and nurtured in a community of women writers on Whidbey Island.
During those two weeks, I not only re-read and archived many of the letters,
but I also completed a first draft of maybe half of the manuscript. I left with
the solid form of a real book on my hands, and a clear outline for what
remained to be written.

Yet
I knew that a baby was soon coming.
And although I would write a few essays related to this project in the next few
years to come, I mostly just blogged motherhood and worked to finish my first
manuscript (SEARCHING FOR THE HEART RADICAL), but otherwise accepted that I would
need to put this second book (working title: ARTIFACTS OF LONGING) on hold.

Now,
I finally have some breathing space. Enter: this week-long retreat. Hypatia-in-the-woods.
I packed my computer, printer, books, both manuscripts, and some collage
supplies (for evening art-making, if so inspired), and drove two hours south to
Shelton, a town outside of Olympia, my old college stomping grounds and
Matthew’s hometown. It felt a homecoming of sorts. Back to the last place I
lived before I was married or with a child. Back to a familiar, yet also
distant and foreign, immersion in solitude and nature. Back to a span of days
before me where my sole goal is to sit at a desk and write. What a luxury! It
feels like a circle completing itself from the last time I worked on this
project, in a cabin at Hedgebrook, while pregnant. Yet now, as a mom, I
understand this luxury in a whole new context. And not just to write for seven
whole days, but also to read and make art at night to my heart’s content! It is
hard to describe how happy and grateful I am to be here.

Yesterday,
it was all I could do but sit in a chair, read, and scribble a few lines of
this gratitude. But today, I am warming up to a more productive, humming mode
of creativity. I’ve given the old manuscript a thorough reading. I’ve made
notes about what pieces (or whole sections) might still be missing or how others
might be rearranged. I’ve poured over a few multiple drafts of the same
chapter, in order to figure out which to throw out or keep or integrate together.
In short, I’m already feeling reinvested in this work. True, it also feels very
daunting right now to think about re-immersing myself in a new book when I
don’t even have an agent, much less a book deal for the first one. But, that’s
precisely what this week is for. To get over the daunting-ness. I knew that it
would be hard to make that transition in my normal day-to-day where I’m still
lucky to squeeze out a few hours of writing time most weeks, and that the ideal
way to “re-enter” would be to spend a few concentrated days with the material,
and to give myself the gift of this in between breath, this interlude, this
transition.

So
now it’s 4:00. The day feels long and spacious, especially without T.V.,
Internet, or even cell reception. I’ve been listening for hours to an old,
mellow world music mix on my I-pod player. The sky is blue. The forest beckons.
I’m ready to get dressed, go out, and then come home to my cabin again and eat,
read, and sink into the evening hours. Tomorrow, I think I’ll be ready to dive
into new writing. And to practice staying open and receptive to the moment and
how it calls me to follow one subject or another, and one form or another-- be it list-making, free-writing, editing, or
poetry. Yes, poetry! After my walk yesterday I found myself spontaneously
writing in verse. This hasn’t happened in a VERY long time, and I’ve always
hesitated to call anything I write poetry. That tells me something about the ripe
potency of this week to come.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Where: Good Shepherd Center in WallingfordCost: $160 if you register by 2/28/14; after that:$180 by check or $185 by Paypal (complete registration details below)

Flash nonfiction is a popular short form that is dense with lyricism and meaning. In this four-week intensive, we will dive into writing and revising our own flash nonfiction, aiming to push our own boundaries of voice and experimentation.

You may pay either pay by check sent to my secure mailbox, or by Paypal below:

Flash Nonfiction

Refund Information for all workshops:

1) If the workshop does not fill to the minimum (4 students), I will notify you in advance and issue a refund to your credit card or by personal check. 2) Full refunds may be obtained if I receive written notice at least 2 weeks prior to the first day of the workshop. 3) Full tuition minus a $20 cancellation fee can be refunded if written notice is given at least 3 days prior to the first day of the workshop. If you need to cancel later than this, due to my own commitments (i.e. space rental) I unfortunately can not offer a monetary refund unless I am able to fill your spot, although I can offer credit toward editing and mentoring services, or future classes. Please let me know if you have any questions and thanks for your understanding.

Please don't hesitate to email me at alkellor@gmail.com if you have any questions about any of my workshops!

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WELCOME:

My name is Anne Liu Kellor, and I am a writer, teacher, and mother living in Seattle. My memoir about my years spent migrating between China, Tibet, and America, Searching for the Heart Radical, explores themes of language, love, and belonging, and is now in search of a publisher. I facilitate writing workshops in the Northwest, and work one-on-one with folks as a mentor and editor. I hope you enjoy my blog.